


Notes in the Margins

by abvj



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, five things fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/pseuds/abvj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Five times Harvey and Donna touch.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notes in the Margins

i.

 

Donna gets the call in the middle of the night, her mother’s voice shaky and exhausted as it crackles over the line. 

_It’s you father,_ she starts, then stops, and it’s all her mother has to say, really, because the tears speak volumes about what is left unsaid. Donna has always known how to read between the lines.

The bile rises in her throat, sweat pooling near the base of her spine, and before Donna can even blink away the sleep or flick on the nearest light, she is out of bed and changing into jeans, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt as she registers bits and pieces of what her mother is telling her. There is more, facts and statistics her mother likes to use because she likes the reliability of them, but all Donna hears is _heart attack_ and _surgery_ and _too soon to tell._

She drives all night, windows rolled down and music blaring to keep her awake. She sings along with the radio, counts back years and memories, when her biggest problems consisted of broken hearts and skinned knees. She remembers early Sunday mornings, just the two of them before the rest of the house woke, when her father used to tell her things like, _kiddo, you are going to change the world one day_ and how she took those words to heart, allowed them to guide her path in life because she simply wanted to make him proud. Donna tries to remember the last time she talked to him, really talked to him in some way that wasn’t superficial or in passing. It was her birthday she thinks, just a few months back, but distance makes things hazy, and she can’t quite remember. It hurts her heart in a way she is entirely unaccustomed to, this fierce constriction that burns and reverberates deep within her chest. Donna starts to make a promise, a vow to a god she hasn’t prayed to in years to be a better daughter, a better person _if only_ – 

But then she stops herself short because she’s the perfect mixture of both her parents and she needs facts and statistics before she can start with the stage of bargaining. 

When she stops for coffee and gas twenty miles outside of her hometown, the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, bathing the sky in a brilliant shade of blue. She sends a quick text to Harvey as she watches, keeping it simple. They deal better with absolutes in these types of situations, never ones to hide between banter and subtext when it’s truly important. There are lines they’ve drawn over the years, some bold, some thin, some practically non-existent and they make an art out toeing them, but they also know when it is best to respect them. They rely on each other too much for their honesty, on the stability of their routines. Donna needs that more than anything else right now.

He tries to call immediately after, the phone vibrating in her hand almost as soon as she clicks _send_ , but she knows him too well. Donna knows the first words out his mouth will be _Are you OK?_ in that quiet, gentle way he sometimes lets shine through the cracks when it’s just the two of them, when he is tired and worn down just enough to let his the indifference fall away to something deeper, something that shows too much of all the things he tries so very hard to hide. Donna is not ready for it. She’s not ready to break just yet, not until she knows there is just cause for it. 

She has also never quite been able to figure out how to lie to him about things of importance. So she simply lets the call click over to voicemail and turns the music up as loud as it will go in an effort to drown the mess inside her head, her mouth moving along with the lyrics to cover the ache in her throat. 

When she arrives at the hospital, her sister stands outside the parking garage, cigarette between her too-bony fingers as she waits. The first words out of her mouth are _don’t tell mom_ as she takes one final drag and stubs out the butt with the toe of her shoe. The second are _they think he’s going to be okay._ Donna just sort of deflates then, everything going soft and hazy as her shoulders sag with sheer relief, eyes just starting to burn as her baby sister suddenly bridges the distance between them, burying her head in the crook of Donna’s neck. Her tears soak the collar of her sweatshirt, and Donna holds her tightly, tells her _it’s going to be okay_ because that is what good sisters are meant to do. 

With her heart in her throat, Donna blinks back tears, holds it together for her sister, and for her mother, and for her father when he finally wakes hours later scared, angry, and looking much, much older than Donna ever remembers. She holds it together for the days and weeks that follow as she stays, cashing in the vacation days she’s been hoarding for years to help her mother adjust to the new regimen and the housework, to make sense of her father’s books at the store while she finds somebody new to take over in an interim position. Donna holds it together as her father fights the diet and the physical therapy and the medications, acting every bit the part of the man who taught Donna how to be bold and brave and unbelievably stubborn. She holds it together while her sister comes and goes, flitting in and out whenever she damn well feels like it, usually with her children who wreak havoc wherever they frequent in tow. 

(There had been a conversation, one that started and ended with her sister’s tears, voice breaking as she murmured _I just can’t, okay?_ And Donna had nodded and agreed because her sister had a husband and a new baby and isn’t that what big sisters are suppose to do? Carry whatever burden the others aren’t able to?

Her family has always been her weak spot, where she is her most vulnerable. They’ve never been afraid to take advantage of it, either.

And Donna, well, she’s never been good at saying _no_ to the people who matter.) 

Donna does a remarkable job of holding everything together until she comes home from the pharmacy after a long morning of arguing with the insurance company about why they suddenly aren’t paying for her father’s three hundred dollar, ten-day prescription to find everything has erupted into complete chaos in her absence. Her niece’s screams from the makeshift crib in the living room curdle in the pit of Donna’s stomach. Her nephew is running around with a blanket tied around his neck pretending to be a superhero, jumping off of chairs and tripping over rugs, and her sister is saying, _we’re out of milk again_ without even looking up from her computer as the house phone rings and rings and rings from it’s position on the coffee table right next to her goddamn feet. With clenched fists and a diatribe of filthy language her mother used to wash her mouth out with soap for right on the tip of her tongue, Donna escapes to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the wall and slamming it back down on the cradle just to stop the shrill ring from popping in her ears. 

She’s seething silently near the sink, thumbnail between her teeth as the water slowly refills the pitcher somebody emptied and promptly left out, when the sound of the front door creaking open and closed echoes throughout the house. Suddenly, the noise dissipates. The baby’s wails subside into a soft, manageable cry. Her nephew’s heavy stomping ceases altogether, and Donna turns sharply at the sound of footsteps that are too heavy to be her sisters, senses immediately on alert. 

The minute she sees him the tiny thread that had been holding her together starts to fray at the ends, threatening to unravel her completely. There is a lump in her throat so thick she nearly chokes on it, and for a full minute all she can do is stand there, hands tight around the countertop for support as the water overflows from the pitcher into the sink behind her. 

“I just bribed your nephew with a Nintendo. Is your sister going to be pissed?” Harvey asks, smirking, and Donna laughs a little, the sound twisting off into a sob she has to swallow around to keep from fully escaping. “I also got milk,” he adds matter-of-factly, and he holds it up as proof, so ridiculously satisfied with himself before placing it and a brown bag full of other groceries to the side. 

She finds it absolutely ridiculous that the milk serves as her final undoing, the sight of it on the messy counter and his proud face unhinging her completely. The affection and gratitude she feels for him in this moment is so vast and fierce that it overwhelms her, starving the breath right from her lungs. She doesn’t know why he’s here, how he managed the time off, and doesn’t ask because he’s Harvey and he always just _knows._ He knows her, all of her, exactly when he’s needed to save her from herself. It’s who they are and the tears start to burn behind her eyes and fall without remorse. Donna is so beyond exhausted by this point that she doesn’t even try to stop them. 

Harvey’s face flickers with concern, his mouth softening, but he does not ask _are you okay?_ and she is so incredibly thankful for it. Without thinking, she crosses the short distance to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she buries her head into his neck, breathing in his warmth. She draws on the strength he offers without thought, trying so very hard to make it her own. Pulling her closer, his arms curl around her waist and her fingers leave wrinkles in their wake as she curls them in the fabric at his shoulders. She has missed him, missed her best friend, and she didn’t realize how much she needed him until he was here, standing in her parent’s kitchen with the mud from the driveway dirtying his perfect shoes. 

“My sister keeps forgetting to refill the goddamn water pitcher,” she murmurs, hiccupping a little against the skin of his neck. His laughter is warm and reassuring as it presses into her skin. 

Harvey holds her until she is ready to let go.

 

 

 

 

ii. 

 

Harvey’s favorite part of their pre-trial ritual (and, subsequently, the part he will never share with Mike) is this: 

Before he presses the can opener into her hands, her fingers busy themselves with his tie, loosening and tightening around the fabric until the knot and dimple are in perfect alignment. As she does her mouth curls, the turn delicate and soft, as her palms rest on his shoulders, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles until she deems him presentable. 

“Go get ‘em,” she says and sometimes, depending on the time of day or the state of their week, he idly thinks about what it would be like to kiss her again. 

It’s not the first time he has entertained such thoughts and it won’t be the last. 

They are better at this now, at keeping their distance, at respecting battle lines and each other after the time they no longer speak of. It is easier for them this way and he knows this, knows they may never happen because there are things you can never rebound from, things you simply cannot survive intact, and losing her, losing her friendship would be one of them. He will never admit aloud just how absolutely vital she is to nearly every aspect of his life, doesn’t really understand some days how she bleeds into every single aspect of his life without remorse, setting him straight on course when he threatens to veer off in unknown directions. The people who matter know the truth. 

It is why he allows himself to want for her – for them, for the simplicity of it all in a far removed type of way – but does not touch. It is why Harvey buries whatever feelings he may have had once upon a time when they were different people and simply didn’t know better, and tricks himself into forgetting. 

Like most things in life, he is extremely good at it. 

Still, Harvey is selfish to a goddamn fault, even more so where Donna is concerned, so he allows himself these rare moments of indiscretion. Allows his mouth to twist as the sigh, weighted and soft, leaves his mouth and he memorizes and files away the red of her hair, the turn of her lips, the weight of her touch as it lingers against his skin. 

And then he smirks, steps away, schools his expression into one that both looks and feels familiar. He remembers, like clockwork, that she is not his and he is not hers and they are not the type of people allowed to test such boundaries without fear of repercussions. He remembers, all too clearly, that this is what they have instead: mere moments, soft and fleeting, when the possibility stands as a mere unattainable promise. 

 

 

 

 

iii. 

 

Late at night, when the silence of the firm echoes off the glass, is when they let their guards down. Late nights breathe both familiarity and concern, their exhaustion edging its way to the surface, fighting for control and licking at nerves. Donna routinely finds herself curled onto the left side of his couch, briefings and files covering her lap as her toes curl and dig into the cushion near his side. Harvey allows this, a habit of theirs started years before, as a record plays soft and low in the corner. 

There is takeout to the left, a bottle of beer half-gone on the floor somewhere within reach and her eyes start to burn, the muscles of her shoulders aching from lack of sleep. Donna twists her neck to work out the kink, closes her eyes and breathes through the discomfort, counts to five backwards and forwards and is about to move to put on the coffee when he reaches for her, fingers smooth and sure against the skin of her ankles as he pulls her feet into his lap. She sighs a little as her muscles stretch to accommodate the change in position, her knees cracking in the process, and her smile is small, grateful as he tosses one file to the side just to reach for another. 

Their movements counter the other’s for a while, files passed back and forth between them, scribble in the margins with notations only the other understands. She has been back two weeks, closer to three now, and it was a relief, in the beginning, how easy it was for them to reclaim common ground, for the foundation to feel solid beneath her feet. Things are different, the shifting and changing that occurred during their time apart seemingly irrevocable, it’s impact still undecided, but they are still them, still Harvey and Donna in all the ways that matter. 

“I should have fought harder for you.” 

It takes her a moment to register that he’s speaking to her because his voice is low, rough from lack of use and the only thing giving him away is the way the vibrations of his tone settle against skin and dig into her bones. Donna’s eyes flick towards his, watch as he actively avoids looking at her, his left hand falling to his lap, brushing against the arch of her foot before dropping to his side. She pulls her feet back on instinct alone, curls into herself. 

It is only after the loss of contact that he looks at her with such honesty it catches her off guard, sets her on edge. Harvey’s mouth presses into a thin, straight line. Donna can count the lines around his mouth and she holds a breath, allows the air to fill her lungs as she waits for the discomfort of the moment to pass. 

There is a joke to be made, the punch line already right there on the tip of her tongue, itching for release because it is their default, their defense mechanism, and it feels as though it is the right thing to do. But it would cheapen the moment, would ruin the strides they’re taking at trying to overcome the last bit of distance that still exists between them and Donna knows him, knows what he is looking for, what he has needed from her all along but will never be able to ask for aloud. 

“I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” she murmurs, almost too softly, and watches as his face registers something she can’t quite place, the corners of his mouth lifting just barely. 

There is a nod, curt and slight, and Harvey reaches for her again, fingertips smoothing and tapping against her skin. All too easily she gives in, straightens her legs until her ankles cross in his lap once more. The joke falls out of her mouth easily now, and he laughs, the sound soft and tired but familiar. 

Finally, she remembers to breathe. 

 

 

 

 

iv. 

 

His father’s house stays empty, collecting dust for nearly a year. 

Harvey dealt with the logistics when he was home for the funeral – the mortgage, taxes, forwarding address – and chalks up his avoidance to something altogether different, to this merger or that case. The bills arrive like clockwork every month, he sees them peek out from underneath the files on Donna’s desk occasionally, but he never mentions them, and she pays them without saying a word. It takes her seven months to bring up selling, another two to convince him to actually hire a realtor, and another one to arrange a long weekend for him to head there and get the house in order because he adamantly refuses to hire movers to sort through his father’s possessions. Knows they would treat the intricate items as if they were trash and that is just simply unacceptable. 

(She only brings up his brother once, telling him quietly, _you should call him, he’d want to help_ in that tender tone she uses so rarely, the unfamiliarity of it always managing to unnerve him. Harvey shuts down the conversation immediately, reminds her that his brother has enough things on his plate, and it’s his job now that his father is gone to protect him from these sorts of things. 

His brother is strong, was made that way by circumstance just like Harvey, but he is much, much easier to break.) 

He tells Donna he can do it alone, but she shows up that Friday morning with an overnight bag regardless, and clears his schedule after three so they can make it there at a decent hour. He drives, and she distracts him with her feet up on the dashboard and her fingers constantly fiddling with his pre-set stations. Harvey knows what she’s doing before she even does it – knows she goads him into arguments just to keep him from retreating too far into himself, and he is so profoundly thankful for her in ways he can’t even begin to articulate properly. He tries, even opens his mouth, but the words catch and die in his throat. 

Which is okay, he figures, because she usually just knows. 

They don’t sleep that first night. They try, but he’s wound too tightly, the walls of the house to suffocating as he lies in his childhood room with her just down the hall and his father’s presence everywhere he looks.

She knows, of course. Finds him in the kitchen just two hours after they say _goodnight_ , drinks the whiskey from his glass, and starts working on wrapping the plates and glasses in old newspapers, placing them gingerly in a cardboard box she labels _fragile._ They make their way from room to room. Start in the kitchen, in the center of the house, and work their way outwards. She makes fun of baby pictures, and sneezes constantly as the dust stirs and then re-settles. Harvey tells her stories of his father, of this picture and that item, of those long Sunday afternoons of his childhood when his father taught him how to cradle the weight of a baseball in his hand and throw a curveball like the pro he could have been one day if things had turned out differently. 

The walls are stained from the cigar smoke, and Donna takes to them with bleach and water as Harvey boxes up his old room and his brother’s too. She cooks at night, makes him drink water instead of alcohol, and is quiet when he needs the silence to serve as motivation and talks when he needs the chatter to calm the mess inside his head. 

It’s an intentional thing, leaving his father’s study for last. The box from the last time he tried – the night of the funeral when he was trying to rush through the motions, but the stench of cigars and the sight of it all cut too deep – still sits neglected near the door. It’s partially filled with a few albums, a book or two, a picture of Harvey when he was eight or nine, his little brother awkwardly hugging his middle. The room is stuffy and dark, and when Donna opens the curtains to let the light shine in, the contrast burns his eyes. 

The room is exactly how his father left it: saxophone in the corner, cigar half smoked on the table next to his worn chair, a bottle of something expensive and aged on the desk. Harvey’s throat burns as he looks around, as he remembers so many nights spent in here as a child, watching in awe as his father talked about music the way Harvey still talks about the law sometimes. 

Donna reaches for him the moment he starts to break, her fingers swift and secure near the crook of his arm, and he’s not sure why, but it just makes things worse. He starts to move instead, working through the uncertainty as he heads to the bookshelf and uses it as his starting point. He goes through files and books, the stacks of music sheets with his father’s messy scrawl scribbled from edge to edge. 

It’s Donna who puts the record on sometime later, the scratch of the needle against vinyl snapping his head to attention as he watches her hands shake a little in the process. He remembers then, for perhaps the first time this weekend, that she loved his father too, in her own way. He remembers that he is not alone in this. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey left abandoned on the desk, he pours them both a glass and presses it into her hands. She smiles her gratitude. 

Together, they sort through every inch of the room – pictures torn and fading around the edges, albums without jackets, jackets without albums, books with cracked spines, lists and lyrics, quotes stuck inside the thin pages. When they are finished, the significant separated from the trivial into boxes near the door, they sit side by side on the couch as the sun dies outside the window, filling his father’s study with a hue that paints the room golden. 

Without thought, Harvey catches her wrist, fingers intertwining with hers. He squeezes softly, just a slight amount of pressure, and she holds on. Coltrane plays softly on the record player. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. 

 

 

 

 

v. 

 

There is a dive bar just a few blocks from her apartment, and she drags Harvey to it just so she can watch him squirm uncomfortably for the first ten minutes of the evening the week Mike transitions seamlessly into a second year associate. It’s just the three of them at first, drinking cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey, wincing as it burns on the way down and trading anecdotes about Louis from years past like it’s a privilege somehow, and making too many jokes about how their boy is finally growing up. 

Rachel shows up somewhere in the middle, sliding home awkwardly next to Mike in their booth near the far corner of the bar. Mike’s already pretty drunk by now – thanks to Donna egging him on and Harvey coaxing him into doing all three wise men in quick succession by claiming _tradition –_ and a sloppy one at that. So it isn’t at all surprising, really, that the remainder of Donna’s night is spent in total amusement, silently mocking the two with Harvey whenever their company’s attention is diverted because of all the touching and flirting going on both above _and_ below the table. 

Harvey puts Rachel and Mike into separate cabs sometime after midnight, much to Donna’s complaints and endless speeches about letting nature take it’s course that he aptly ignores. 

Afterwards, they linger far longer than they should at the bar, her feet tucked around the lower rung of the barstool as they talk about the Yankees and her parents, as they trade epic tales of the indiscretions they committed when they were young and stupid and allowed. Donna sips her beer, and watches as he talks animatedly about the time he drove his father’s car into the mailbox only to talk his way out of grounding _and_ paying for the repairs. Naturally, the conversation then segues into one about his father, one that starts out guarded and impersonal, but slowly morphs into something deeper, something he only every allows her to be privy to. 

Donna doesn’t push or pry, merely listens carefully, beer lukewarm between her palms as he talks, and she can’t help but think about how this has always been the best and most frustrating part of their relationship. How after a decade and more of shifting and growing and infiltrating every single crack and crevice of the other’s life, they are still in the midst of fully letting the other in, holding back some of the innate details of their lives out of self preservation and something else entirely.

Something they don’t dare name, something they toe and ignore, but pulsates between them like an undercurrent, binding them together. 

Eventually, the dancing sort of happens by accident. One minute Donna is using her hands for emphasis as she tells him the hilarious details of the time she inadvertently staged a week-long sit-in her sophomore year and the next minute Harvey is pulling her up and away from the bar, muttering something about not being able to hear her talk over the loud music and goddamn college kids two tables behind them. Donna stumbles a little, alcohol weighing her down, but the fingers wrapped snugly around her wrist steady her, anchor her to him as they walk. 

When he pulls her against him, it’s suddenly too warm, the whiskey swimming through her veins too fast, and her head spins. Harvey’s hands spasm on her waist before settling, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress before relaxing, like suddenly he’s unsure and trying not to let it show. She feels his touch everywhere, and it takes her a minute to adjust, to relax and give into him, her arms tangling themselves around his neck as he hums along with the music. 

The want hits her hard, unreliable as it sparks and settles in the base of her spine, and she blinks against it, tries not to focus on how nice this is with his body pressed against hers, his voice low in her ear as he tells her a story she won’t remember later due to lack of focus. 

They’re not even dancing really, just holding on to each other, bodies forming a long, languid line as they sway, the band and other patrons paying witness to their foolishness. 

(Donna remembers the first time they did this – some event for the DA’s office during that very first year together. His suit was a half-size too big, his tie too skinny, and her dress was cut too modestly as he stepped all over her toes. 

Sometimes, Donna wishes more people knew him then, but then she realizes she likes the surge of possessiveness, the quick coil of heat she gets in the pit of her stomach when she remembers she is one of the few, the rare that knew him when.) 

At some point, Harvey pulls back, pulling her away from the past as he peers down at her with a smile that is too soft, too vulnerable and threatens to unhinge her at every end. There is a joke, but it falls short, gets lost somewhere between them because there is such affection, such a vast amount of absolute want in the way he’s looking at her that it leaves her breathless. 

She is the first to look away. 

It’s an exhausting game of give and take between them, one of constant deflection, always has been. Probably always will be. They’ve never been very good at these sorts of things, these moments where it would be so easy to say what they are thinking, what they want, and allow the cards to fall wherever they may fall. They aren’t very good at this because they are both usually experts at feigning indifference, allowing the emotions to flicker to life for just a short span of time before shutting them down completely. 

It is how they've survived for as long as they have, how they remain mostly intact as friends, colleagues and, most importantly, partners. 

So Donna simply smiles through the moment, indulging herself by pulling him closer to her still. The song switches to something vaguely familiar she can’t quite place. Harvey knows it, of course, hums along with the tune somewhere near her ear, the vibrations digging into her skin and bones. She presses her eyes closed, and allows herself this quiet moment to think about the possibilities of impossibilities. 

It is enough for now.


End file.
